


Steve Rogers and the Pureblood Heir

by Lenalena



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A little angst, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Flangst Lite, M/M, Magic Powers Though, Mostly Fluff, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers-centric, Teenagers, no superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenalena/pseuds/Lenalena
Summary: Community Gift for the 2016 Cap -Iron Man Holiday Exchange.Prompt: "Hogwarts AU; Tony and Steve are in rival houses and have always butted heads. Then one Christmas they find themselves at Hogwarts together during the Holidays while the rest of their friends go home."





	1. He's Got the Magic Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap Ironman Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cap+Ironman+Community).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Стив Роджерс и наследник чистой крови](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036676) by [Anne_Boleyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Boleyn/pseuds/Anne_Boleyn)



Still shaking the handful of snow out of his hair that had been Bucky’s way of saying goodbye for the Christmas holiday, Steve opened the door of the Great Hall. Breakfast had long burned off and he was starving. He could hear the echo of his footsteps, they sounded hollow. Only this morning, the hall had rung with the voices of hundreds of overexcited students who couldn’t wait to go home on the Hogwarts Express. Steve had been caught up in the excitement, even though he wasn’t heading out with them. He never did. Being an orphan, he pretty much lived at Hogwarts. Wasn’t so bad, usually, because Bucky always stayed too. But this year Bucky had been invited to spend Christmas with Natasha’s family, which had been fertile ground for future in-law jokes, but still not something Buck would (or should) pass up, no matter how much ribbing he got about his Slytherin girlfriend. Sam was in trouble for getting shitty grades and so he hadn’t been allowed to invite Steve over after all. No matter, Steve could use some quiet study time himself. N.E.W.T.S. were coming up in only a few months, after all.

And quiet it would be, apparently. He took in the table set for lunch with dismay. There was professor McGonagall at the head of the table and a smattering of children who were third year students at the most. No upperclassmen at all. The door fell shut behind him with a lonely thud. McGonagall frowned at him in her usual way.

“Pick up your feet, Mr Rogers, you’ll wear out your shoes if you keep dragging them that way.”

Steve tried. He was pretty sure the shoes would disintegrate if he cast one more _Reparo_ or Extension Charm on them. And as literally everyone knew, thanks to a certain person, Steve didn’t have two galleons to rub together. Steve’s mom had been a muggle and there were no Gringott’s vaults left in his name. All he owned was provided by the school.

With considerably less enthusiasm he made his way to the table. It was going to be a long, lonely three weeks.

Behind him, the door swung open again.

“Why can’t my house elves bring me lunch in my lab? This is ridiculous!” The voice was annoyingly familiar and Steve’s heart sank even further into his shoes.

McGonagall peered over the top of her glasses at a spot behind Steve.

“This serves as a thrice a day reassurance for me that you haven’t blown yourself up again, Mr Stark. Besides, they are not _your_ house elves.”

“Close enough,” muttered Tony, loud enough for everyone to hear. Everybody knew that the late Howard and Maria Stark had left a very substantial sum to Hogwarts, School of Wizardry. Not that it had made a dent in the fortune they had left their only child. Tony overtook Steve with a swift and sinuous sidestep and cast him a quick look over his shoulder.

“Did your goons abandon you, Rogers?”

“Bucky and Sam aren’t my goons.” Steve knew he sounded sullen.

“Henchmen, then.”

“Not-”

“Followers?”

“N-”

“Devotees? Cultists? Sla-”

“Shut up, Stark!”

Steve hated him. Hated how the star Ravenclaw student gracefully slid into a chair, without even looking at Steve and how he handled his cutlery with impeccable pure bred manners. Hated how he always had something snide to say, how he argued with professors (and often won), how he was beautiful and brilliant and brittle and caustic. But most of all, Steve hated how he himself became completely tongue tied around Tony Stark. He knew he stuttered like a yokel when Tony was present, and that that nine times out of ten he ended up beet red for no good reason. When Tony wasn’t around Steve was the charming and popular captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, but when Tony was there, he was pulled in so many different directions that he ended up acting like a bumbling idiot, reinforcing Tony’s already low opinion of him.

“I’d be much obliged if you two could manage to be civil to one another and set a good example for the young ones these three weeks,” McGonagall admonished primly and Steve had no choice but to mutter acquiescence and take his seat.

“Remove the Compulsion and I’d happily take my food to my lab, so I can leave everyone in peace,” Tony groused, stabbing his sausage with deadly intent. “This is an outrage, being forced to come eat in the Hall and to go to bed at midnight. What am I, twelve? It is utterly ridiculous.”

“After last winter’s fainting spell, Madame Pomfrey thought it wiser to ensure your adherence to a schedule of minimum sustenance, social interaction and rest during the break.”

Tony shot a furtive look at Steve from under his eyelashes. Then he turned back to McGonagall.

“I did not _faint_. I just needed to lie down for a bit.”

“I was trying to phrase it delicately, Mr Stark, but if you prefer me to be more blunt, I can. You collapsed in your lab, from hunger and exhaustion, and you laid there for 8 hours before I could be alerted and take the wards off your door. Then I had to call Madame Pomfrey back from her vacation in the Maldives to nurse you back to health. Which took three days. So this year you _will_ eat and you _will_ sleep.”

Steve stared at his plate intently trying to look as if he wasn’t listening. Tony had been in the hospital wing for three days last winter? He’d not even noticed. How had he not noticed? What had he and Bucky been doing? Nothing big, he was sure. Just the usual shenanigans. Snow fights, broomstick racing, quidditch practice, the occasional haphazard attempt at schoolwork, exploding snap and games of chess in the Gryffindor common room, nightly kitchen raids for pastries and mulled cider... While they’d been oblvious to the fact that Tony had worked himself sick, all by himself. He pushed down the tendril of guilt that wanted to worm itself up his throat. It wasn’t like Tony had asked for their company, right?

_Not that Bucky and I would have taken him on if he had._

Bucky would have snarled something like “Get lost, Rat. Go buy yourself some new friends if you broke your old ones.” And Tony would have… Tony wouldn’t even have asked.

Steve dug into his food with a grim determination. Maybe he could hang out with the younger kids this year. That would be alright, wouldn’t it? He looked up from his food and found Tony’s eyes on him, a sullen look on his face. Averting his eyes, he caught three of the 13 year olds staring at him. They giggled and blushed and started elbowing each other. Right. Maybe not. Despondent, he turned back to his food.


	2. Every Little Thing He Does Is Magic

The next day Steve was coming back from his second run, taking a moment to catch his breath so he could give the portrait of the Fat Lady the password into Gryffindor tower. He was about to speak when she was obscured by a very properly dressed house elf stepping in front of her. Steve didn’t recall ever seeing a house elf in clothes, let alone one as formally dressed as this. The Fat Lady gave an indignant little squawk, but the house elf ignored her and addressed Steve instead.

“Mr. Rogers, I am Jarvis, Master Stark’s house elf. I am afraid Master Stark needs your help most urgently.”

“Master Stark… what?”

“There has been an incident in his workshop. He really does need assistance right away.”

Steve stared at him, wondering if this was another one of Tony’s pranks. Making a point about how gullible Steve was.

“Please, sir. I am afraid he’s getting hurt.”

It was the obvious distress in the elf’s voice that convinced Steve. He looked more prim and proper than any elf Steve had ever seen, yet here he was, clearly upset.

“Where?”

“Second floor of the astronomy tower. Please hurry.”

Steve didn’t know why he had expected Tony’s workshop to be in the dungeon, probably because it would have been closer to the gates of hell, but it was just as well, at least the astronomy tower was close. He pivoted on his heel and started running down the hallway, checking that his wand was in the arm holster, where it belonged. Thank fuck it was. He didn’t know how bad things were, but for Tony to ask for _Steve’s_ help, they had to be pretty bad indeed.

 

He could tell the double doors to Tony’s place were warded to the teeth before he’d even gotten close to them. Right. A simple _alohamora_ wasn’t going to do anything here. He could probably get through, given a little time, Steve was good with wards, but it took McGonegall eight hours last time, apparently. He checked the walls next to the door. Solid stone, expansion charm, but no wards. Brute force it was, then. He aimed his wand and blasted a hole next to the door, following it up by a quick stasis spell to avoid being brained by any delayed downward action of the bricks. His mouth fell open after he’d crawled through the hole. Tony’s workshop was like all movie sets from all mad scientist movies ever, jammed together. There were cauldrons smoking and colorful liquids bubbling in glass flasks and tubes that crisscrossed the room like hamster tunnels on crack. There was a large collection of mysterious metal parts floating in the center of the room that looked like a slowly rotating cloud of asteroids. There were benches and tools everywhere and various walls were stained black by past explosions, by the looks of it. Metal rods were sticking out of the walls and ceiling at random intervals. Steve would have stood and stared like a dunce, if it wasn't for the frantic calls of the house elf, who had appeared in a slightly singed portrait across the room. And then Steve hear it, the angry rumbling of some large piece of machinery. He ran around the island of worktables with the asteroid cloud above it and came eye to eye with the strangest motorcycle he had ever seen. For one thing it had eyes to come eye to eye with and the wheels seemed to have thousands of tiny spokes instead of rubber tires and the spokes looked sharp and were- oh God, that was Tony Stark on the floor being attacked by a raging bike.

Tony was curled up in the fetal position with his hands clasped around his head and his clothes in shreds. Lacerations covered his arms. It was a miracle he hadn’t been crushed by the thing. Steve quickly levitated the machine off Tony, but that obviously didn’t faze it. The little spokes became paddle shaped, which were very effective at displacing air and it started working its way back down again, roaring in frustration. Keeping it in the air was a struggle and keeping it back away from himself was too. Sweat broke on his forehead. Suddenly the thing reversed direction and crashed through the asteroids, which exploded in all directions at once, leaving trails of destruction in their wake as glass tubes shattered and screens cracked and metal struck sparks off the stone that ignited the smoke from one of the cauldrons. One chunk flew right by Steve’s head and he had to dodge, temporarily losing control over the motorcycle that promptly came roaring back at him. He was trying to decide whether a P _etrificus Totalus_ would work on an inanimate object, when it it was as animated as this, even if wasn’t alive, or maybe it was, when the house elf in the portrait yelled.

“Master’s wand! It is on the bench to your left. Get it to him!”

Steve desperately cast another Levitation and forced the bike back with the force of his will in order to reach the wand. He grabbed it and tossed it in Tony’s general direction, not daring to take his eyes of the motorcycle that was glaring at him with green tinged eyes and a menacing rumble, while it was trying to get at him. The pillar of fire in the cauldron was giving off waves of greasy smoke that stung Steve’s nostrils and the back of his throat and one of the broken tubes was leaking a fluid on the bench that was eating away at the wood with a loud hiss. The motorcycle now tried to go over him, working _with_ the Levitation Charm, and Steve lost control of it again. He quickly cast the _Petrificus_ and it seemed to kind of work, but not completely. The little spokes went stiff and the eyes went glassy, but the wheels still turned and the thing was everything but still. Steve was slowly being forced back by it and he started feeling the heat of the flames at his back. Just when he considered doing a drop and roll to get out from under the engine and let it crash into the fire, the cauldron lid slammed shut and the flames died. He could hear Tony’s voice casting a few quick spells and the acid stopped leaking and all the flying metal object came back together in the center of the room.

Suddenly Tony was by his side, breathing hard.

“Hold it still,” he ordered and raised his wand. Steve tried to overlay a Stasis spell without breaking the _Petrificus_ and he managed to reduce the bucking thing to trembling. Sweat was dripping into his eyes and he gritted his teeth trying to maintain the focus on both spells at once.

“Good, good,” Tony breathed. And he started to slowly peel parts away from the motorcycle, flicking them over towards the asteroid cloud. Steve wanted to shout at him to just get the fucking wheels off, but he couldn’t do it and maintain the spells. All he could do was clench his jaw a little harder. Tony was digging parts out of the middle instead. It took about 15 interminable minutes before Tony flicked his wand one last time and a jagged piece of bike came flying out that Steve could just tell was rigid with rage, somehow. Suddenly the motorcycle went completely still and Steve was about to lower it to the floor gently with a sigh of relief, when Tony hissed _Avada Kedavra_ next to him. Steve yelped in shock as the bike crashed down and the jagged piece of machinery tumbled right after. He took a shaky step backwards and when he felt the wall through his sweat soaked shirt, he slid down it until he was seated on the floor, yanking Tony down beside him. For a moment they just sat there, panting, Tony leaning heavily into Steve’s shoulder. The moisture of his breath tickled the hair on Steve’s arm and Steve repressed a shiver.

“What the _fuck_ , Tony!?” he finally managed. “An Unforgivable?! You cast a fucking Unforgivable!”

Tony pushed himself somewhat upright, using Steve’s shoulder for leverage.

“It wasn’t actually alive.” He sounded sullen.

“It sure as hell _acted_ like it was alive. And it sure is dead now!”

“Still doesn’t mean it was alive. Pardon me for offending your delicate sensibilities.”

“I’m not being delicate, you ass. That was an Unforgivable.”

“Fine. Next time I’ll kill it with a hammer or zap it with 220. It’ll still be dead.”

He had a point. Dead was dead.

“Next time? You’re planning on building another evil motorcycle?”

“‘S not evil. Just angry.”

Just….what? Steve eyed the fallen machine, which alive or not, looked most decidedly, and eerily, dead now.

“Why….was your motorcycle angry?

“I insulted it.”

“You insulted your motorcycle and _that_ is how it reacted?”   

“Bruce made that particular part.”

Well, that was stupid. Bruce was the second smartest Ravenclaw student and admittedly brilliant in his own way, but also in possession of a legendary temper. Not someone Steve would model a sentient _anything_ after. Steve hadn’t even known Bruce and Tony worked together, he had kind of assumed nobody would be good enough for Tony of the ancient and noble house of Stark. But if Bruce made that part of the bike, then-

“Merlin, Tony, that wasn’t a horcrux, was it? You didn’t kill part of Bruce’s soul, did you?”

“Of course not! At least, I don’t think think so. I’ve never tried making a horcrux. I wonder if-”

Steve looked at Tony in horror, ready to tell him off for even toying with the idea, but he forgot what he was going to say when he spotted the profusely bleeding wound in Tony’s eyebrow. He shifted onto his knees and grabbed Tony’s chin to tilt the wound to catch the light. Tony tried to pull away, but Steve was much stronger than him.

“Lemme go,” Tony hissed.

But Steve already had his wand out, cleaning the wound first with a disinfecting charm and then he carefully tracing it with the tip of his wand as he encouraged the edges to knit themselves together. It was delicate work that required a lot of concentration if you didn’t want to leave a scar in the wand’s wake. He’d practiced plenty on Bucky before, but he’d always thought that a bit of scarring would serve that guy right, with all the stupid shit he pulled. Tony, though, Tony shouldn’t have scars. He hesitated where the cut intersected the eyebrow, not sure about being able to regrow the hair there, in the end he pulled the skin together just a little tighter there, so even if it wouldn’t, it’d be barely noticeable. He inspected his work closely.  Satisfied it had come out all right, he vanished the blood that stained Tony’s face with his own tamped down version of S _courgify._

Only then did he notice that Tony was still struggling and that he had a death grip on the other boy’s face. Furious black eyes bored into his from only inches away, the brown irises swallowed by the pupils. Steve’s breath caught in his throat and his mouth went dry. He was immediately and urgently aware that he had never been this close to Tony Stark before. It was… unsettling. And exhilarating. Like touching the tip of your tongue to the end of a battery.

“Let. Me. Go!” Tony bit out through clenched teeth. Steve dropped his hand with alacrity and sat back on his haunches. He finally noticed the wand that Tony had had pointed where Steve’s temple was just a second ago. He swallowed.

“So… uh.... Why sentient motorcycles?” Hoping Tony would let him leave the elephant right where it was. “Why not just get a bike from Weasley’s Auto Emporium?”

He could see Tony gather the shreds of his dignity together as if it were an expensive cloak. He shot Steve another dirty look while he did so. Then he sighed.

“Because they’re ugly.”

“Really? I think they look pretty nice.”

“No! Yes. They look fine. But the magic is ugly. They’re muggle motorcycles that have been charmed to fly, they’re not inherently magic. You even have to have to take them in every six months to have their charms redone. They haven’t been _designed_ to fly. What good are rubber tires when you’re in the air? Why have an exhaust pipe if you’re not using gasoline? It’s lazy, ugly magic, that only appeals to people that want to look like muggles.”

Steve stared at him. That was the most Tony had ever said to him and it was hard not to feel flattered just by the fact that Tony was using more than three word sentences. He knew he shouldn’t be intimidated by the smaller boy, but knowing and feeling were two different things.

Tony interpreted his silence differently. He drug himself upright and impatiently pulled Steve over towards the dead bike.  

“Here. See the peds?” He pointed at the thousands of little spokes the bike had instead of tires. “They will shape themselves to mimic a rubber tire, complete with tread, when they sense asphalt, they will become spikes on grass or dirt and in the air they will form thin but sturdy miniature sails, so as to actually displace the air you’re traveling through. Now the eyes…”

Steve listened with open mouth as Tony took him through all the parts of his magic motorcycle and the brilliant complexity of the sleek machine became apparent. Tony had been right, the magic involved in this made a regular flying bike look like a frock on a pig. Steve hadn’t even known magic and technology could be as beautifully interwoven as this. He started asking questions and Tony seemed to have forgotten this was Steve he was talking to and was answering him like he didn’t hate him. It wasn’t clear how much time had passed by the time they were squatting side by side, Tony turning the part that had had too much Bruce in it over in his hands.

“So it needs to be sentient to respond quick enough to the riders commands?” Steve asked for clarification.

“Yes, but maybe not _this_ sentient.”           

“Why’d you use Bruce for this? Why not yourself?”

Steve wondered if he wanted to know what a bike with Tony’s spirit would be like. He imagined it being powerful, proud and… dangerous. Something dark and joyful curled low in his belly.

“Tried that,” Tony said with the faraway voice of someone distracted by other thoughts, “Didn’t work. It’s like I cancel out my own magic. Don’t know why, you’d think it’d be squared if there was any reaction at all, but it really does nullify itself. Gotta figure that out someday. My processor is over there.” He waved over towards an alcove that Steve hadn’t even noticed yet. Admittedly, things had been a bit chaotic. “I was hoping Bruce could use it, but it doesn’t like Bruce much, apparently.”

“Bruce apparently doesn’t like you either.” Steve gestured to the part that Tony was still studying.

“Which is weird. I like the real Bruce just fine and vice versa. I think so, anyway. Maybe I should check that though. For science.” He shot Steve a menacing look, daring him to suggest that Tony was being needy and Steve raised both hands defensively. Tony stood up and walked over to a mirror that had miraculously escaped unscathed. He called Bruce’s name and a few seconds later the other Ravenclaw appeared and exclaimed at the mess in the workshop. Steve listened in as Tony rapidly explained what happened, but lost interest when the two boys started yammering advanced arithmancy at each other. Jarvis joined them through a portrait next to the mirror and seemed to be taking notes.  Steve wondered if he should just go now. Tony was fine and didn’t need him anymore, after all. His head jerked up, though, when he heard Bruce raise his voice.

“No, Tony, I _can’t_ come over and help out! I’m on a family vacation, for Merlin’s sake. I am on a cruise ship in a Norwegian Fjord on my way to see the Northern lights. My parents would kill me if I left, even if I knew how to get off this ship. And, no, I don’t want to get off this ship!”

“You can’t expect me to wait three more weeks to redo the processor! What the hell am I going to do for three weeks?!”

“I dunno. Use Rogers.” Bruce waved dismissively at Steve. “He’s got plenty of practice in not flying into an incoherent rage when you insult him.”

Steve was vaguely insulted by that, but swallowed any potential response when Tony whipped around as if he’d forgotten Steve was there. Par for the course, that. Steve would rather be insulted.

Tony looked him up and down with a speculative look on his face. Steve tried to glare at him, but his face just wouldn’t do it.

“You’re right,” Tony said, obviously not talking to Steve, “Rogers will do very well. Get those soft tissue adjustment equations to me when you have them, okay?” He flicked his wand at the mirror and it went dark, but not before Steve could see Bruce roll his eyes behind Tony’s back. He held up his hands defensively as Tony stalked closer, somehow gazing somewhere inside Steve rather than at Steve.

“You’re not horcruxing me into that bike, Tony.” Even though it was a beautiful and brilliant bike and Steve was dying to take it for a spin. It was Tony’s turn to roll his eyes.

“It’s not a horcrux, you heard me explain how it’s not a horcrux! Bruce didn’t even know something had happened to his processor. It’s harmless. It doesn’t take anything away from you. You just….infuse it.”

Steve said nothing.

“Come on,” Tony wheedled. “Don’t you want to ride it?”

“I wouldn’t be able to if it was me in there, that’s what you said.”

Tony tilted his head and looked askance at Steve.

“I’ll let you ride bitch seat.”

“It doesn’t even have a bitch seat.”

‘I’ll put one on. For you.”

Steve tried really hard not to imagine what that would be like, to ride that sleek monster seated behind Tony, with his arms wrapped around the smaller boy. Flying through the winter nights, with the wind in their faces, chasing the moon. He failed spectacularly.

He opened his mouth to say no anyway, but Tony had already sensed his victory. He slapped Steve on the back and yanked him out the door.

“Great, we’ll start tomorrow. Now we gotta go eat. Compulsion’s calling. Merlin’s balls, did you come through the wall?!” He surveyed the damage Steve had done going in.

“Yeah. Sorry. It was faster than trying to get through your death trap of a door.”

Tony looked at him speculatively, his face expressive in ways Steve was unqualified to interpret.

“Admirably efficient,” Tony finally conceded. “I’d never have thought of going through the wall. Gotta fortify the walls now. And I guess I had better add you to the door ward exemptions.” He suddenly grinned at Steve. It was like staring into the sun.

“Subtle like a ton of bricks,” added Tony, “but very efficient.” With that he strode off down the hall. Steve took a moment to cast a R _eparo_ on the wall and gather his wits, before he hurried after him.

  
Tony was waiting for him at the stairs.


	3. Do You Believe in Magic?

Over the next few days Steve did a lot of holding things for Tony while Tony did extremely complicated stuff that Steve had a hard time following. Tony explained the basic premises as he went and they made kind of sense to Steve, but it was a little like Tony explaining the concept of a ball to him and Steve just about understanding that he was talking about a small, round bouncy thing, only to watch Tony start to juggle 17 multi-colored ones in ever more complicated patterns, using phantom appendages that Steve hadn’t even known existed. It was fascinating.

There were also lots of times when Tony was busy juggling alone, but Steve was strangely reluctant to just leave him to it. And there wasn’t much else for him to do, except running, but if Steve was honest with himself, that wasn’t why he had started bringing his books to Tony’s lab when Tony was off in Advanced Arithmancy Lalaland. It wasn’t even so much that he was still concerned about Tony’s safety. He was. A little. But mostly, he just liked hanging out with him. And wasn’t that the weirdest thing ever? It was as if the crisis they’d been thrown into had made the years of animosity somehow irrelevant. Tony still sniped, and Steve still stumbled over his words sometimes, but the sting had gone out of Tony’s words and Steve could now laugh at himself when Tony baffled him. It was completely different from his friendship with Bucky and Sam, which was based on a whole lot of shoulder pounding and other forms of mild to moderate physical violence plus talking about quidditch, but this felt like a tentative friendship nonetheless.

 

It had been close to a week of this odd camaraderie when Steve considered throwing in the towel on his most recent assignment. It was nearly 11 at night anyway, he was so tired his focus was shot, and the fucking comb just would not transfigure into a real apple. It looked like an apple, but he knew it wasn’t. He glared at the thing sitting on the workbench. Then sighed at it.

He started as Tony reached over his shoulder and picked up the apple.

“You know you didn’t actually transfigure this, right?”

“Yes, Tony, I fucking well know.”

Tony continued as if Steve hadn’t bitched at him.

“You used a weird mixture of glamour, illusion and charms, so it looks like an apple, it feels like an apple, but it smells like plastic and hair and it probably tastes like that too, which I am not going to even try, just so you know.” He tossed the apple in the air and caught it, looking pensive.

“I used the spell McGonagall taught us.” Steve insisted.

“Yeah, I could hear you.” Tony tossed it from hand to hand a few times. “I’m wondering, though…”

He sat the apple down on the workbench with a thwack and a comb tooth rolled away. Turning to Steve, Steve was once more caught in the pure intensity of Tony’s gaze.

“Steve, you’re muggle born, right?”

Steve’s hackles rose instantly. It’d been a couple decades since Potter’s War, but he knew full well pureblood families like Tony’s hadn’t changed their views quite as much as they wanted the general populace to think.

“As if you didn’t know! As if you’ve not let everyone know how fucking poor my muggle-”

“Steve, do you even believe in magic?”

Steve blinked.

“Do I….? What? Of course I do. I’m here at Hogwarts, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, you are, and you’re really damned good at certain types of magic, but deep down… Deep in your bones, do you believe that Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage and mice into horses?”

“Well, according to McGonagall a transfiguration with that kind of mass discrepancy would run into continuity-elasticity limits and can cause reverbs onto the caster.” Steve wasn’t _completely_ stupid.

Tony shook his head as if trying to dislodge an annoying insect.

“First of all, the continuity-elasticity limit is a _personal_ limit, dependent on the skill and power of the caster, it’s not set in stone, unless you’re trying to teach twenty adolescents at a time and you either can’t be bothered to find each individual limit or don’t want them to hurt themselves doing stupid-ass shit while you’re not looking. Second, mice to horses is going to be child’s play for you once you figure this out, I doubt mosquitos to elephants are going to be an issue for you once you get going. Your friend Sam, he may have to worry about mice and horses, but not you, and thirdly- No. Wait. Back up.” He held up a hand to stop himself. “Staying safely within the continuity-elasticity limit, do you believe, _really_ believe, that Rumpelstiltskin could spin straw into gold?”

Steve shook his head.   

“But that’s just a fairytale, isn’t it?”

    Tony gave him an unimpressed look.

    “To muggles, yes. To me, Rumpelstiltskin is the founder of the Stark fortune. First one to figure out that particular transfiguration. Made a killing before the practice got regulated to save the economy. We still have bales of the stuff in our vaults.”

    “But… _Really_?!”

    “Come on, it isn’t that hard to see. Short and dark, kind of a douchebag? Weakness for pretty blondes? I’m sure you can see the family resemblance.”

    Steve ran his hands through his hair.

    “So you’re saying…”

    “I’m saying that, unless you actually believe you can transform one kind of matter into another, all your transfiguration spells are going to come out as jacked up illusions.”

    “Wow.” It took Steve a minute to process this. “And you’re saying that Rumpelstiltskin’s straw did actually turn to gold and is, at this moment, still sitting in the Stark family vault?”

    “Couple of bales. They’re heirlooms of a sort. Bit unpractical as far as heirlooms go, though, size-wise , so most of it was sold off a few centuries ago. Louis the 14th apparently loved that shit. Used it in his stables.”

    Steve took a deep breath.

    “Okay. I believe you.” Steve firmed up that notion in his mind and turned back to his apple. It had given up all pretenses of appledom and reverted back to being a comb minus one tooth. He was going to do this. He raised his wand, hesitated, then lowered it.

    “But the comb is plastic and the apple would be kind of alive. How do you infuse life into something that’s never been alive?” he asked a little plaintively.

    “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, you’re overthinking this!” Tony grabbed the comb. He ran to the other side of the workshop and launched the thing at Steve’s head.

    “Make it a feather!” he yelled.

    Steve’s wand shot up and before he could think about the fact that he didn’t know any comb to feather spells, he fired off a blast of magic that did just that right before the comb would have hit him in the forehead. Tony had good aim. He looked on in astonishment as a brown feather harmlessly drifted down before his eyes.

    Huh.

    “Pajamas!” yelled Tony and threw a piece of metal at him. Steve flicked his wand and a pair of flannel jammies patterned with red and gold gryffindor lions flopped onto the floor.

    Tony snorted derisively.

    “Your taste in sleepwear is appalling, Rogers! Here! Flowers!”

Another unidentified object was sailing towards Steve’s head. This time he ducked and didn’t change it to forget-me-nots until it had almost hit Tony’s bike. Tony shouted in outrage and then it was _on_. They both ran around like maniacs flinging whatever they could find and shouting the most ridiculous things they could think off. Pillows bounced off walls, and oranges. Steve got hit in the back by a football and Tony got hit in the face by a teddybear. A box of paperclips exploded above his head and showered Steve in colorful bits of metal He retaliated with glitter, which made Tony curse creatively. Half an hour later they were both out of breath from running and laughing. Steve sagged down to the floor with his back against the wall, holding up his hands in surrender. Tony plopped down in front of him, panting, with glitter in his hair and a wicked grin on his face. He held out a brown feather.

“Apple,” he managed between breaths.

Steve flicked his wand silently and Tony was holding a red and gold beauty of an apple with little drops of condensation rolling down its side. Tony bit into it with relish and leaned back against the workbench.

“I think I proved my point,” he said with his mouth full, and Steve nodded. It was hard to believe he hadn’t been able to do it an hour ago, it seemed like the simplest thing on the planet now.

“Wordless, too,” added Tony, respect in his voice. “Bet you could even do it wandless, but maybe not at the same time. I think you’re one of those people who can just do things by force of will. Which means you’re gonna struggle with a lot of the theoretical stuff, because it doesn’t help someone with your kind of magic. And you’re always going to be more of a brute force kind of guy, but admittedly a really powerful one.” His eyes flicked to where the hole in the wall had been.

“I’m good with wards, too, though,” said Steve, wondering if Tony’s assessment was true. It felt true. Mostly. “It just would have taken too long, considering the fact that you were being beaten to a bloody pulp by your diva motorcycle.”

“Well, that’s just not fair,” said Tony without any heat. His skin was pale and clammy.

“What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

“Compulsion. It’s past midnight, but I don’t _want_ to go to bed.”

“What happens if you don’t?’

“Dunno. Haven’t tried it. Right now I just feel a kind of pull in my belly and I am really tired. I’m gonna wait a bit and see if I can beat this thing.”

That seemed like a stupid idea to Steve, but he knew better by now than to challenge Tony on issues like these. He’d only dig his heels in.

“Okay, but let’s get off the floor then.” He pointed his wand at a stool and transfigured it into a couch. “Come on.” He dragged Tony off the floor when the boy held up his hand and lowered him onto the couch next to himself. Tony had gone practically limp and flopped against Steve’s shoulder when he could no longer keep his head up.

“Fuck, this Compulsion is powerful,” he whispered. It was. It only took another few minutes for him to be dead asleep, half draped over Steve. Steve sat there, stiff as a board at first, but gradually relaxing as Tony’s breath deepened. Carefully, he allowed his head to rest on top of Tony’s, secretly relishing the soft tickle of the dark hair against his cheek. The late night quiet made him feel comfortably mellow. He stared at the opposite wall for a while.

What now? Conjure up a blanket and let Tony sleep here? By himself? That didn’t feel right. Okay.  Best try to get him to bed then.

“Jarvis?” he said softly.

The impeccably dressed house elf popped up in a painting nearby. Steve wondered if paintings ever slept.  

“Yes, Master Rogers?”

“Do you have the password for the Ravenclaw tower?”

“Regretfully, no. I have not needed that information, Master Rogers.”

Well, then. It looked like Tony was going home with Steve. Not like there weren’t a million empty beds at Gryffindor. He untangled himself carefully, feeling a twinge at the little noise of protest Tony made. After a few seconds of deliberation, he carefully lifted him off the couch, bridal style, tucking Tony’s head against his shoulder. He was heavier than Steve expected, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

 

Halfway to Gryffindor tower he realized that he could just Levitate the sleeping boy beside him, so he wouldn’t have to carry him. That would make more sense. He tightened his grip instead, though, strangely reluctant to let go of the warm weight in his arms. And when Tony pressed his face into Steve’s neck in response, it was as if he was levitating anyway.

 

***

 

    “What the fuck?!”

    The voice came from Bucky’s bed, but it took Steve only half a second to wake up enough to realize it wasn’t Bucky who’d spoken. Even if it was common enough for Bucky to wake up with that exact phrase on his lips. He flipped over in bed and smothered a grin at Tony’s affronted look as he took in the red and gold bed curtains. He had a spectacular case of bedhead, made worse by the copious amounts of glitter that were still embedded in his hair.

    “Good morning, princess,” Steve smiled despite himself. “I think we can conclude that the sleep compulsion won.”

    Tony turned his head towards him and raised an eyebrow.

    “And, if anyone asks, that’s the only reason I lowered my standards to bunking in Gryffindor tower.”

    “Excuse you? You should be flattered Gryffindor has stooped to putting up your defenseless sleeping ass.”

    Tony lazily tossed a pillow at his head, which Steve grabbed out of the air and shoved under his head. Tony made a face at him and ran his fingers through his hair, making it worse. Then he looked at his fingers in disgust when he spotted the glitter on them. He flopped back on the bed with an exasperated sigh.

    “I hate you, Rogers.”

    Steve’s smile threatened to split his face and something warm spread through his belly.

    “Showers are through that door. Best water pressure in the castle.”

    “I’ll be the judge of _that_ ,” Tony scoffed, as he hoisted himself upright quite melodramatically. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, because Steve hadn’t dared to take off more than his shoes.

    “Jarvis?” Tony rubbed his head, spreading a cloud of glitter all over Bucky’s bed.

    “Good morning, Master Stark.” Jarvis popped up in the still life of a bowl of fruit that Steve had looked at every morning and evening for almost seven years. It was a little creepy, the way Tony’s house elf apparently had the run of the castle, painting-wise.

    “I’m going to take a shower, can you have one of the Hogwarts elves bring me some clean clothes?”

    “Very well, Master Stark.” The house elf popped out of the painting.

Tony yawned and pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his leanly muscular chest and a trail of dark hair leading from his navel into his pants. Steve’s eyes widened and his mouth went suddenly dry. He quickly flipped onto his back, slamming a pillow down on his groin and fixing his stare on the ceiling, as Tony made his way into the bathroom.

 _Shit_.

 

The house elves must have brought Tony’s clothes to him in the bathroom, because he came out fifteen minutes later, dressed in clean pants and a thin shirt. Steve had washed up at the sink, gotten dressed and cleaned up the glitter in the meantime. He was rummaging in his trunk, looking for a jumper, when Tony spoke up.

“Okay, so your water pressure is enviable,” he conceded, “but your tower is fucking freezing.”

Steve quickly felt around the bottom of his trunk for the familiar texture and offhandedly tossed Tony his Real Molly Weasleytm hand knitted jumper. In Gryffindor red with a gold S on it. Sam had given it him for Christmas three years ago, before Steve had hit his growth spurt. Even with expansion charms it couldn’t possibly fit Steve’s current frame, but he hadn’t wanted to toss it out, because, you know, it was a Real Molly Weasleytm and it was at this point probably the most expensive item of clothing he had ever owned.

Tony snorted, but put on the jumper anyway. He slid his hands down his sides, smoothing out the soft wool. It fit him perfectly.

“I look ridiculous.”

Steve stared at Tony wearing his jumper. His jaw was clenching.

 _No. You don’t look ridiculous.You look like you’re_ mine _!_

He choked down the hot wave of possessiveness that made him want to drag Tony close with fistfulls of his own jumper and never let go. Turning quickly, he left the room before Tony could spot the naked want written on his face.

 

He didn’t see how Tony pulled the material of the jumper up to his nose and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

   


	4. Magic Carpet Ride

                    Tony wore Steve’s sweater three days in a row and Steve prided himself in getting the worst of the growly feelings under control. It still pleased and frustrated him at the same time to see Tony in the red and gold, those colors really suited him, somehow, but he felt his face was back to normal, at least. He’d look at Tony when he was busy and feel warmth pool low in his abdomen. He tried very, very hard not to think about kissing Tony, about peeling him out of his jumper and sliding his tongue up his throat. And he tried very hard to keep his hands to himself.

    It was hard, because somehow Tony seemed to have decided that Bucky’s bed was better than his own and just started following Steve home at night. So Steve couldn’t even rub one out in peace. Instead he lay there in the dark listening to Tony talk about random topics and letting the sound of his voice wash over him until the Compulsion dragged him under. Then Steve would slink into the bathroom and jerk off furtively while he imagined crawling into bed with Tony afterward.

    He only almost slipped up once. It was on day three of Tony-wearing-the-boyfriend-jumper and Steve was getting cabin fever. He was pacing around the workshop alternating with morosely staring out the windows, when he spotted the gaggle of underclassmen running out the back gate for a snow battle. He perked up immediately. That was what he needed, a good snowball fight! Tony and he should captain, because obviously these kids had no sense of strategy. Tony, unsurprisingly, was being a curmudgeon about the whole idea, so Steve dragged him unceremoniously outside. He figured Tony could hex him easily enough if he really didn’t want to go out.

    It was awesome. With cold blooded efficiency Tony turned his team of minions into cruel, backstabbing cheats. On the other side, Steve’s cohort was excellent at battle cries, but not much with the actual aiming of the snowballs. And in the end their hapless little armies mutinied, ganging up on the bigger boys and Steve and Tony were mercilessly buried under the remains of Tony’s illegal fort. When the kids had run off victoriously, Steve was left with a squirming and cursing Tony on top of him, snow in every orifice. Steve was helpfully wiping Tony’s face with his mitten, and Tony was slapping at his hands, when Steve became aware of the position they were in and how close Tony was. He’d only have to stretch an inch or two to be able to kiss him. Tony’s lips would be cold, but his tongue would be hot behind them and Steve wanted it so much that he had to roll over and dump Tony off to stop himself from doing it. Tony glared at him for the extra dunk into the snow, but that was okay. Much better than what Tony would do if Steve had given in to that impulse.

Tony was still cursing the filthy little traitors when they were stomping the snow off their boots in the entrance way. Steve wasn’t listening, he could only stare at Tony’s bright eyes and ruddy cheeks and nod in what seemed appropriate places. When they were ready to go back up, McGonegall was standing there with that small smile on her lips.

“The house elves will be bringing you hot cider and cookies in the Gryffindor common room in 5 minutes. Best hurry.”    

They raced up the stairs.

Too bad Steve’s jumper really needed to go in the laundry after that.

 

The next morning Tony plopped himself on the edge of Steve’s bed and Steve manfully did not pull him down on top of himself. He folded his hands behind his head to make sure of it.

“I think we’re ready for a test drive, today!” Tony’s eyes were gleaming. Steve smiled at him helplessly.

“I think we should go-” Tony stopped himself, a grimace on his face. “Wait. What day is it?”

“December 21st,” Steve replied.

“Ah, fuck! Already?” Tony threw himself backwards across Steve’s legs, his arms flopping overhead. His nightshirt rid up to show a sliver of skin.

Steve kept his eyes firmly on Tony’s face.

“What’s so bad about December 21st?”

“Winter Solstice. Gotta go do a thing, tonight.” He hoisted himself up on his elbows and that didn’t feel so good on Steve’s shins. He jostled Tony to get him off.

“Stop it, jerkface.” Tony slapped him half heartedly on the thigh. “Stop kicking me.”

“Stop trying to break my shins then!”

“Oh!” Tony came all the way up, finally freeing Steve’s legs.”We can ride the bike there! You can-” He looked at Steve, a grin spreading over his face, making Steve wonder what trouble lay ahead “Oh, hell yes!” Tony exclaimed. He jumped off the bed and stalked over to the painting. “Jarvis!”

The house elf appeared immediately.

“It’s today?”

“Yes, Master Stark, everything is on schedule.”

“Excellent. Steve and I will be taking the bike over in a little while. Can you have Entwhis-” Tony glanced over his shoulder at Steve, then turned back to the painting. “No. We need Thistlethwaite for this. Firecall Thistlethwaite and convince him to meet us at the manor at 11 for a rush job. Invoke my father, bribe him with my firstborn, whatever. As long as he’s there. Tell Entwhistle I’ll see him at 4.”

Jarvis shot a quick glance a Steve, who clutched his blanket a little closer in a faint attempt at modesty.

“Very well, Master Stark. Will Master Rogers attend in any official function?”

“He’ll be receiving with me.”

“I see.” Nothing changed in the elf’s expression but Steve could have sworn Jarvis was surprised. It made him a tad uneasy.

“I’m pleased to hear it, Sir. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”    

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

Tony turned back around and Steve didn’t like the shifty look on his face at all.

“What’s going on? Tony?”

Tony sighed and sat back down on the bed.

“Okay. This is the plan. We’ll get going here in a minute and then we’ll take the bike to Stark Manor. I need to be there tonight, because I am hosting the traditional Midwinter Celebrations. It’s a big official event for prominent members of the wizarding community. I’ve just told Jarvis you’re coming too.”

“Me?! At a hoity toity pureblood party? Are you out of your mind? I don’t even have dress robes!”

“I figured. And if you did, they’d be the wrong ones. That’s why Thistlethwaite is coming over. He’ll grumble and moan and charge me an arm and a leg, but you’ll have exactly the right robes by tonight.”

Steve felt his eyebrows climb up into his hairline.

“Are you even listening to yourself? I’ll never be able to pay that back and even if I did I wouldn’t want to spend my galleons on dress robes. Besides, robes or no, everyone will still know I am muggle born. Why would I want to be looked down upon all evening by your pureblood friends?”

Tony’s brow creased in frustration.

“It’s not like that! They’re not friends. They’re vultures, Steve. Vultures who flock to see if the Stark heir is showing any signs of weakness this year that they can exploit. I’ll be paying for your dress robes because you’ll be doing me a favor by attending. You’ll be my moral support. And I promise I’ll have your back. I won’t leave you alone with disapproving matriarchs who don’t want you to look at their daughters with your lack of pedigree.”

Steve still felt sceptical.

“Why me? Why not bring Rhodes?”

“That wouldn’t work. They know Rhodey. They know what he is and isn’t. You’re an unknown factor, they won’t know what to make of you. You’re the cog in the wheel! The sand in the sandwich! A big fat middle finger to pureblood arrogance!”

Steve knew in his bones that being Tony Stark’s big fat middle finger to anything was going to be a risky undertaking, one that was likely to backfire in spectacular ways. But he’d be lying to himself if the idea of annoying a bunch of stuck up purebloods wasn’t appealing. And to be wanted by Tony Stark, even if it was only for this, was appealing too.

“Please, Stevie?” said Tony. “I’d really like you to be there with me.”

As if Steve could say no after that.  

 

***

 

“Right. You want to do the honors?” Tony handed him the processor that was by now somehow infused with Steve’s personality. He took it with a little trepidation. It didn’t feel like it was a part of him or anything, but then again, apparently his own magic neutralized this thing. He wondered how sentient it was and how he’d be able to tell. Tony had made a few upgrades to the bike as well. It stood there, with an air of still anticipation, it’s lines sleek and attractive. With Tony’s help he slotted the jagged piece into the receptacle on the bike. A little shudder went through the frame and the eye in the headlight snapped open. It was an iridescent blue that was a few shades lighter than the midnight hue of the body.

Tony fist pumped silently, excitement spreading over his features. Then he crouched in front of it.

“Hello beautiful,” he crooned softly and Steve told himself not to be stupid. One didn’t get jealous of a motorcycle.

The eye regarded Tony for a moment, then purred to life. Tony’s face lit up even more.

“Oh, yes, baby, that’s it. We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we? Yes, we are.”

He held out his hand.

“Can I?”

Steve gritted his teeth as the bike seemed to stretch like a very large cat and pushed itself into Tony’s hand, ramping up the pleased rumble. Before he knew it, Tony had his arms full of amorous motorcycle. He lost his balance and ended up on his ass, laughing delightedly at Steve, who managed a wry smile in return. Tony didn’t notice.

“Look at that, Steve! This is phenomenal! Bruce-the-bike was never this responsive!”

_That’s because Bruce doesn’t want to fuck you._

How pathetic was it that, even as a minimally sentient piece of machinery, apparently Steve’s defining feature was his need to be all up in Tony. And worse, that Steve-the-bike was getting farther than Steve could ever hope to get. Faintly nauseated, he watched Tony coo over his bike a little more.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” he interrupted the love fest. “Don’t you have an appointment to keep?”

“Right, right. Yes, we do. Come on, honey, let me run a couple of tests on you and then we go for a spin outside, what do you say?” The bike was virtually jumping for joy and Steve was silently wondering if he really was that obvious and if so, why hadn’t Tony called him on it yet and put him in his place? This was embarrassing.

The tests were over in minutes. Steve had almost hoped the bike would fail, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the conflicting feelings around the thing for a while, but of course it passed with flying colors.

“Well done, girl,” Tony patted the bike affectionately, “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“It’s not a girl!” _I’m not a girl!_

Tony shot him a pitying glance.

“All bikes are girls, Steve. Just like ships.”

“No wonder you pissed off Bruce.”

“That’s not- Oh, shut up and get on.”

“I feel emasculated, Tony.” Steve tried for lightness as he swung his leg over the bitch seat, wondering if the bike could sense his ambivalence and balk at him. He was almost disappointed when it didn’t react.

“I’m so sorry, Buttercup. I’ll make sure to use only manly nicknames for you.”

Steve poked him in the side as he settled behind him. Tony squealed and pulled away. Ticklish. Steve grinned.

“That was a very manly reaction, Bubbles. Remind me to tell Rhodes all about that.”

“I’ll hex your lips shut permanently.”

Steve’s retort died on his lips as the bike roared to life and took off through the window.

_Whoa!_

He flung his arms around Tony as both of them whooped in exhilaration. The snowy trees fell away below, with the watery sun peeking through a shroud of mist above, and the icy air hit their cheeks with a vengeance. Steve cast a wandless warming charm before the tears being blown out of his eyes could freeze in his lashes. He blinked rapidly.

It was fantastic.

The bike rumbled seductively under his ass and the feel of Tony between his thighs, in his arms was perfection. He could hold on as tight as he wanted and it’d be alright.

They were the best two hours of his life.

 

And they abruptly came to an end when Tony finally eased the bike down onto the lawn of a manor so fucking fancy that Steve knew instantly he was in way, way over his head.

This could only end in humiliation and heartbreak.   

 

                                   

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. It's a Kind of Magic

    Steve clambered off the bike a little awkwardly, his muscles stiff after the long ride.  He shook his head trying to shake the buzzing in his ears. Next to him Tony practically yelled in his ear.

    “That was absolutely fucking awesome!”

    It had been, yet Steve found himself wiping sweaty hands on his robes while trying not to gape at the fancy house across the lawn. He was spared the need to answer by three smartly dressed house elves apparating in front of them.

    “Jarvis! Pepper! Happy!” Tony greeted them, still jubilant. He quickly did the introductions and then proceeded to update Jarvis on the need to finetune the power sequencing in the repulsor technology, to which Jarvis nodded gravely.

    “Happy will be pleased to take the motorcycle in, Master Stark. I’d like to inform you that Master Thistlethwaite is waiting for you in the parlor and I believe Pepper has some paperwork you will need to sign.”

    “Aw, Pepper, can’t it wait?”

    The female elf, who was wearing a shimmering dress, frowned at him.

    “That is what you said last time, Master Stark, and then you left before signing. If you leave them unsigned again I will send them to Hogwarts by howler.”

    “Fine, fine, let me deal with Thistlethwaite and then I’ll be completely at your service.”

    Steve had never seen a house elf roll her eyes before.

    She and Jarvis apparated away, while Tony cooed at his bike some more and gave Happy detailed instructions how to care for it. Her.

    Then he beckoned Steve and they trudged through the snow towards the fairy tale house. Steve wiped his hands again.

    “So…. Uh…. How come you have a portrait of Jarvis at school, if he is still alive and living here? I thought only dead people had talking portraits?” Probably something he should have known as a proper wizard and didn’t.

    “House elf magic is a little different. So when the headmistress wouldn’t let me bring him to school, I had his portrait painted and took that. Almost as good, especially since the Hogwarts elves are afraid of him.”

“And how come your house elves wear clothes?” As far as Steve had understood, they weren’t allowed to, in general. Because then you lost them, or something.

    “I freed them all after my parents died. They’re the ones that raised me, didn’t seem right to keep them enslaved. Thank Merlin most of them chose to stay on, anyway. I’m pretty sure I’d have fucked up completely if they hadn’t kept things running.”

    He held a door open for Steve that looked like delicately spun glass. Steve made sure not to leave any marks on it.

    “Parlor’s this way.”

 

    Thistlethwaite was a disapproving older man with an elegant mustache who radiated a air of being extremely inconvenienced, yet flattered. He dismissed Steve on sight, at least as far as making any decisions about his attire went. Within a couple of minutes he and Tony were in a heated discussion about silhouettes, fabrics, shades, button holes and seam widths. Among several hundred other things that were apparently important. Steve busied himself with drinking numerous cups of tea out of china so fragile looking he considered levitating the cup to his mouth so he wouldn’t risk crushing it by accident.

Eventually Thistlethwaite huffed and got out his wand and Tony slapped Steve on the shoulder and said he’d go see Pepper and be back directly.

He lied, because for the next few hours Steve stood in the eye of a storm of needles, threads, measuring tapes, buttons, scissors and a lot of silent judgment and Tony was nowhere to be seen. A house elf he didn’t know yet thankfully brought him lunch at some point.

At the end of the afternoon, at the point where Thistlethwaite had spent at least half an hour just regarding Steve and his new robes from every possible angle and making minute adjustments that only he could see, the door banged open.

From his vantage point Steve could see the small tailor immediately stiffen up and draw himself up to into a silent bristle. Then Tony sailed into his line of sight with a man in tow who was tall and slender and had floppy green hair. This was obviously a sign of trying too hard, in Steve’s opinion. This guy went rigid too, puffing up his chest a little.

“Thistlethwaite,” he spat.

“Entwhistle,” was the growled return.

Any moment now they would start circling each other, claws unsheathed. Steve looked at Tony in mild alarm, and immediately lost his train of thought. Tony looked… phenomenal. The robes he was wearing were dove grey, with a bit of a pale blue hue to them and they looked a little different than ordinary dress robes, but in a way that suited Tony. He looked sleek, and beautiful and just a little dangerous and debonair. Steve swallowed hard.

“See?” Tony said to Entwhistle. “Next to him, it won’t be too- Oh, come off it, you two! I have no time for this. Guests are coming in less than an hour.”

Both tailors deflated a little. Not completely though.

“I see what you are trying to say, Master Stark,” Entwhistle conceded thinly, after a long pause in which he studied Steve with distaste. “I have to say the more conservative style becomes your friend, his physique can certainly carry it, but I am not sure that even when regarded as a pair, the narrower cut-”

“Oh yes, it will!” insisted Tony. “We’re going with it.”

“Very well,” said Entwistle. “I am sure I could have done a more satisfactory job if I’d have been able to design the set myself. Or if at the very least you’d let me know the design would need to complement one of his.” There was a minute nod at Thistlethwaite, who frowned at the sneer in his adversary’s voice.

“As would I,” he conceded, though, obviously regretting being in any kind agreement.

“No, no,” Tony said. “Wouldn’t have worked. Can’t have a matching set, that'd be too much.  This works. It does.” He stood himself next to Steve to invite comparison. Their robes were very different, even Steve could see that. But the hue in Tony’s robes matched a thread in the fabric of Steve’s and somehow the contrasting designs were okay when seen together. The tailors must have seen the same thing, because they muttered and grumbled a bit, but no scissors were thrown down in disgust and then Tony and Entwhistle left to do whatever they had agreed to do and Steve suffered through another half an hour of non-adjustments. All he wanted to do when Thistlethwaite finally left with a vaguely satisfied grumble, was flop on a couch and put his feet up. He kind of figured that was out of the question.  

 

Predictably, Tony whisked him away before he could so even so much as eye the couch. They traversed what seemed to be the entire length of the manor and ended up in a room so vast, so splendidly decorated, that Steve’s mouth fell open. He’d always thought that the Hogwarts Christmas decorations were the pinnacle of holiday extravaganza, but compared to Tony’s ballroom, they had been positively rustic. There was nothing homey about the room, though; it glittered in shades of winter, from starkest white to glacier blue. Enormous chandeliers dripping with icicles hung from the vaulted ceilings, giant snow crystals and fairy lights whirling among them. Snow covered trees with sculpted ice ornaments stood between the tall arched window, exquisite snow sculptures here and there. Everything was larger than life and Steve felt about two feet tall. He shivered, despite the room’s very pleasant temperature.

Next to him, Tony whistled.

“Oh, nice job this year, Pepper!”

A disembodied, “Thank you, Sir,” came floating from somewhere between the chandeliers. Tony, Steve noticed, matched the decor perfectly. With his pale robes, he could have been Narnia’s Ice Queen if it hadn’t been for his warm brown eyes. Steve had come to love the way they narrowed when Tony smiled, but he wasn’t smiling right now.

“Okay. So. The next part isn’t going to be very pleasant.” Tony looked a little grim. “We’ll have to stand hereabouts for a couple of hours in a receiving line, shaking hands. Then there’ll be dancing and food though, so that’s not usually as bad.”

“What? Me? Why would I be in the receiving line?” asked Steve, who had pretty much planned to go hide behind a tree for the evening.

“Because you are the one person I personally invited. Besides, I said I wouldn’t leave your side. Can’t keep that promise if you’re hiding under a table somewhere.”

“What do you mean ‘the one person’-?”

“All this is tradition, Steve. From the beginning to the end of the evening, and up and down the guest list, it’s the culmination of centuries of the Stark family hosting the Solstice ceremony for the creme de la creme of magical Britain. Besides the Summer Solstice, Beltane and All Hallow's, it is one of the four Great Gatherings and hosting it is a privilege that I'd rather die than willingly give up. Except that I'd be giving it up anyway if I were dead, because- Actually, maybe ghosts can host it, too, I haven't ever checked on that. Doubt they would let me, though, I'm sure the Stanes would immediately step in and claim the honor. Anyway. This is the first time I’ve invited a special guest, I can’t have you just mill about with that innocent look on your face. They’d eat you alive.”

     Before Steve could voice his serious misgivings, Jarvis announced the first guests and Tony pulled Steve next to him. If Steve had expected an outcry at the break in tradition, he was sorely mistaken. They were minutely raised eyebrows, little creases of disapproval around delicately painted lips and many, so many inquiries about where the Rogers family originally hailed from.

    “Steve is Muggleborn, I’m afraid,” Tony would announce with a little relish, and the eyebrows would climb a fraction higher. One or two couldn’t or wouldn’t hide an actual sneer. Tony _sounded_ pleasant enough, but Steve knew him better than that.

“You are looking very well this year, Mr Stark,” would be the inevitable follow up and Tony would smile and nod and retort just a little too sharply.  Steve watched in silent astonishment as the boy he’d come to know over the past weeks withdrew within a suit of invisible armor. Dozens and dozens of witches and wizards remarked on Tony’s appearance, emphasizing the quality of it this year. So many that Steve started to wonder. This year as opposed to last year? What had happened- Oh!

“Did you collapse before or after the 21st last year?” he whispered to Tony.

“The 18th,” came the reply in terse tones.

Oh.

Three days it had taken, McGonagall had said. Steve couldn’t even imagine doing this after something like that.

“It’s nice they’re all happy to see you’re better.”

Tony snorted. Delicately.

“Don’t be fooled by their pretty manners, Steve. They’re all sorry I didn’t die.”

Then the next person was there to meet and greet and Steve shook his hand and said that, no, he wasn’t related to any Rogers family on the Isle of Man, he was afraid he was just plain muggleborn, so sorry to disappoint.

As the line progressed, the names of the people he was introduced to became more and more familiar. They had wizarding laws named after their family, or they featured in the pages of the Daily Prophet and Steve was glad he was annoyed by all the subtle digs at his own ancestry and Tony’s health; otherwise he would have been intimidated. He wondered how many more of these people he could take before he did something stupid and humiliating.

The next man in line was pale blond and matched the decor almost as well as Tony did. He shook Tony’s hand and smirked openly. Steve got ready to punch him.

“I see you dropped the Consumptive Poet look you adopted last year,” the man said. “Too bad. I think I am next in line to inherit this place if you croak. Very inconsiderate of you to give me false hope like that.”

“Not even close,” scoffed Tony. “You know very well the Stanes are next in line. But I’ll make sure I bequeath you the Carnaby china in my will, I’m sure that will make you happy.”

“Ugh. Those brown and yellow flowery monstrosities your grandmother used on Saturdays? Fine. Live! See if I care!” Then he smiled a genuine smile, maybe the first one Steve had seen all evening. “Good to see you looking well, cousin.”

“Good to see you too, Draco. And you, Harry.” Tony smiled at the unobtrusive man next to Draco who was busy rolling his eyes at his blond friend. Steve only noticed him now.

“Draco, Harry, this is my friend, Steve Rogers. Steve, these are my cousin -several times removed- Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Two of a small contingent of people who prefer me alive.” Steve was at a loss for words.

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Tony,” chided Draco. “At least a third of the people here wish you no harm whatsoever. And I am sure only half of the rest are actively disappointed last year wasn’t the start of your inevitable decline into substance abuse.”

Tony made a face.

“Must be why their kids in Hogwarts keep trying to get me hooked on shit. Get the Stark heir in their pocket and dependent on them”

Steve gasped.

“What?! Who?! Who tried to get you hooked on what? That’s despicable!”

“Oh,” smiled Draco. “He’s perfect.”

“No,” said Tony. “He’s better than perfect. He is a good person.”

Steve felt a blush creep up his cheeks.

“I see. And now I see why he’s wearing Thistlethwaite, while you stuck with that dandy.”

“Entwhistle is who I needed after last year.”  

Draco regarded the both of them closely, apparently reconsidering their outfits, then he smiled at Tony.

“I see what you did there, Tony. Good. Bit of social suicide, possibly, but definitely making a statement there.”

“Please tell me you’re not divining the meaning Tony’s choice of robes again, you pedantic snob,” said Harry good-naturedly.

“Just because you are sartorially oblivious,” countered Draco, “doesn’t mean that Tony and Steve aren’t making a statement with their choice of dress.”

“The guy behind me is kicking my heels. Can you and Tony discuss the finer points of the stitching some other time? We’re holding up the line. Steve, so nice to meet you!”

“Did you tell him you’re the savior of the wizarding world and I’ll hex his feet off if he doesn’t stop?” Draco stage whispered.

Harry gave him a look and started pushing Draco forward.

“Fine, we’ll catch up later, Tony. Nice to meet you, Steve. Way to go!”

It looked like Tony flushed just a little. Steve thought he had imagined it, but the way Draco smirked, maybe he hadn’t.

Then followed group of Ministry officials and there was no opportunity to ask Tony what that had been all about. He had an inkling he maybe, possibly wasn’t going to like it, though.    


	6. Try to Understand He Is a Magic Man

The next few hours were a blur. Steve shook so many hands he thought he might need a brace the next day, or some actual healing spells. There was exquisite, delicate food on silver trays that meandered among the throngs of people. There was dancing and Steve was so glad there had been a yule ball last year and he’d paid attention at the dancing lessons. He only got to dance with Tony for a second before people were cutting in left and right and he ended up dancing with so many witches that he wished someone would hex him. Then there was more mingling, with Tony by his side, getting into conversations that Steve could barely make sense of. The one thing that was starting to make sense, though -and Steve wished it didn’t- was Tony’s previous behavior at school. Steve had thought he had been an arrogant asshole then, and it looked like he was being one now, but it was so easy to see through that Steve didn’t understand how he’d never seen it before. It was a defense mechanism. The more unsafe Tony felt, apparently, the sharper he got. It was worse here than Hogwarts. Once in a while, when he was afraid Tony might actually inspire someone to challenge him to a duel, he’d place his hand on Tony’s arm or shoulder. Just because he didn’t want to see him get into mixups he would regret tomorrow. It seemed to help. There’d be a minute drop in his shoulders and Tony would change the subject, to everyone’s relief.

It was tiring. The crowds and the noise and the dazzling lights, they were pounding his senses. A persistent little headache throbbed behind his right eye and he needed to get out, if only for a bit. He made his excuses and went to catch his breath in a dark and cool hallway. He leant his back against a wall and rested his head on the cold marble. What the hell was he even doing here? He was so out of his element, it had gone beyond funny. He briefly considered leaving, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Tony in there by himself. No doubt Tony would be fine without him, he’d done this before. Alone and in bad health. But Steve didn’t want Tony to be alone and he didn’t want him to be fine without Steve, especially if he didn’t have to. So Steve was going to take a couple of deep breaths and then he’d jump back into the fray.

 

He paused upon entering the room, the light and the noise hitting him full force. Right. No stepping back into the hallway.

He looked around, looking for Tony among the crowd. It took a few minutes before he spotted him about halfway down the room. It looked like he was in a group of youngish wizards who were having fun making adjustments to one of the more over the top snow statues. Tony had his wand out and was spinning a snow halo over the sculpted locks of the tragic looking nymph, or whatever she was. She could be a historically famous witch, for all Steve knew of wizarding history. As always, he was struck by Tony’s graceful movements. The way he carried himself, the way he wove his spells, his brilliant mind and the sense of power that was barely contained by his physical body. The way he would laugh at Steve, his brown eyes warm and pleased. Steve was so gone on him.

He was about to to start moving towards Tony, when a familiar voice spoke next to him.

“He certainly draws the eye, doesn’t he?”

Steve turned to Draco.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“That’s why he wore what he’s wearing. It’s shockingly modern. As a muggleborn I don’t suppose you see the significance.” He said he neutrally, as if Steve’s ancestry was of no interest to him, and that was the only reason Steve didn’t stalk away.

“It’s going completely over my head. Is there seriously that much significance to what people are wearing?”

“Oh, Steve. Of course there is! Look, that lady over there in the jewel tones. What do her robes say?”

Steve regarded the woman. She seemed to be on the far side of middle age and she reminded him of one of his mother’s friends who had worn too much make up.

“That she doesn’t want to be old?”

“See, not that hard. More specifically, they say that she recently lost her husband, that she relishes her newfound freedom, but that she still needs external validation. How about that guy over there?” He nodded at a younger man in stiff, formal robes, who had a pale complexion and mousy hair.

“He doesn’t like fun?”

“Oh, he probably likes it, but he doesn’t want his father to think he does, so he won’t get cut out of the family’s potion business. See, that is his father over there, in almost identical robes. I bet our friend has fun in all kinds of unsavory ways on the sly, though.”

Steve looked Draco up and down.

“So what do your robes say?”

Draco smiled.

“They say ‘I don’t deserve him, but the boy who lived married me anyway, so you can keep your opinion of former Death Eaters to yourself’.”

“All that, huh?”  

“Yup.” Draco flicked a bit of lint off his lapel.    

“What do Harry’s robes say?”

“I am completely lacking in the sartorial graces and too stubborn to let my husband pick my robes, I am of the false opinion that none of you care what I wear, but the truth is none of you would dare to criticize me anyway and at least I am comfortable.”

“Sounds like you may have had an argument or two about that,” Steve laughed.

“Oh, you have no idea,” said Draco darkly.

“So… um. What do my robes say?”

Draco brightened immediately.

“Your robes are brilliant! Especially in combination with Tony’s! I always knew that boy was listening, even though Harry said I was boring him to death with my dressing advice. Anyway. Your robes are so traditional, just on the right side of stuffy, in fact, that they completely belie the fact that you’re muggleborn. You’re challenging everyone’s preconception that the muggleborn never become true wizards because they weren’t raised in the tradition. Now, the way you were next in the receiving line to Tony, who is wearing something so flaunting tradition, it’s like you’re saying ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got him in hand if he goes over the line.’ The fact that Thistlethwaite was Tony’s father’s tailor adds something to that, that either just plain reinforces the previous sentiment, or that add something vaguely salacious to the mix, I haven’t decided yet.”

Steve shifted from foot to foot and wiped his palms on the robes that he considered ditching right then and there. His gaze sought Tony’s again and this time Tony caught it. Tony smiled. The not fake smile. Everything else faded away and Steve swallowed hard. Then Tony’s smile changed. It got that turn up at the corner of his mouth that preceded every occasion when Tony would do or say something to provoke him, when he would act deliberately to get a reaction out of Steve. Tony’s hands went to the top buttons of his outer robes and never breaking eye contact, he started to unbutton them. Steve’s mouth went dry.

“Well, that settles that,” said Draco next to him. “Definitely salacious.”

Steve realized with a shock he wasn’t the only one seeing this, it wasn’t just the two of them in the room. Hundreds of people were seeing this.

“What the hell is he doing?” he whispered furiously to Draco.

“Well…” began Draco.

Across the room, Tony took off his outer robes and vanished them in mid air. Then he turned back abruptly to the group of people that was messing with the snow sculpture and grew the dryad (or Rowena Ravenclaw) a set of snow horns as if what he was wearing wasn’t scandalous at all. Steve doubted he himself fully appreciated exactly how untraditional the almost skin tight button-down shirt and waistcoat were. All he knew was that he himself, and, no doubt, all the other men in the room wore the billowy, shirts with ruffled cuffs that he’d always thought belonged in old timey pirate movies, but that were apparently standard wizard attire. Tony’s shirt didn’t even reach the waistband of his decidedly low cut trousers. These barely covered his hip bones and let a tantalizing strip of flesh bare. Steve wanted to touch him so badly, he didn’t know how was still standing here. Then Tony stuck his wand in his waistband for a moment and started rolling up his cuffs to just under his elbows. Steve might have groaned.

“As to what _that_ means, I think it should be fairly obvious,” said Draco and Steve had completely forgotten he was still there. “Wait, here comes Harry. I think he can explain it just as well.” He greeted his husband with a quick kiss.

“Did you check if Molly successfully got our daughter down for the night?”

“I did. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Your expressions are so weird.”

“As a kneazle in a knot, then.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“There. We’ll make a proper wizard out of you yet.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I am an optimistic man. Hey, Harry, could you help Steve decipher what Tony’s choice of clothes is trying to say?”

“Who? Me? I thought I wasn’t even supposed to be allowed to buy my own clothes, let alone have an opinion on them?”

Draco discreetly pointed in Tony’s direction and Harry’s eyes followed. First they went comically wide and then he started grinning. He looked at Steve, who wished he could sink through the floor.

“Oh yeah, I know that one. I believe that one says ‘Come fuck me through the mattress. Now!’ In fact, it reminds me of the time when Draco-”   

Draco covered Harry’s mouth.

“Shush, you. He doesn’t need to know that. Steve, why are you still standing here? The vultures are circling.” Several men and women did seem to be on a glacial drift towards Tony’s corner.

“Me? Are you sure that message is for me? Why the hell would he throw me to the sharks like this?”

“Because you’re a fucking shark too, Steve! You need to get that into your head. Stop acting like a minnow. Stop letting us intimidate you. Besides, he knew I’d boot you in the arse if you weren’t getting the message. Which I will do with much aplomb if you don’t get your arse over there in thirty seconds.”

Steve stared at him. Did Tony really-

“Think of it this way,” said Harry, “do you really want to take the chance that someone else gets there first and puts their hands on him?”

That unfroze Steve’s feet. He swiveled back in Tony’s direction and started stalking across the room. Fuck decorum.

“Merlin. Young people are dim, nowadays,” he heard Draco grumble.

“Yeah, because we weren’t oblivious at _all_ ,” was Harry’s reply.

 

Someone must have alerted Tony to Steve’s indecorously rapid approach, because Tony whirled around right before Steve got there. His grin was blinding. Steve couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Tony by the hips and pulled him closer. Then he couldn’t seem to let go. Tony’s grin wobbled.

“I thought you were supposed to keep _me_ out of trouble,” whispered Steve, trying to not broadcast what he was saying, although there were probably a dozen eavesdropping spells on them by now.

“And here you are,” said Tony, laying a hand on Steve’s chest, “safely by my side.”

Steve slid his thumbs across the bare sliver of skin above Tony’s waistband and watched him suck in a sharp breath. Heat pooled low in his belly.

“I don’t feel very safe right now.”

Tony’s pupils dilated and he licked his lips reflexively. His hand curled in Steve’s robes.

“Neither do I,” he breathed.

“I feel like I am teetering on the edge of a cliff, to be honest.” Or falling through the floor.  

Tony stepped in closer, his eyes boring into Steve’s. Once again, the world fell away until there was Tony, and only Tony. Standing so very, very close and feeling so warm under his hands. So right.  

“Jump, Steve.” It was as if Tony had whispered it directly into his ear. Goosebumps ran down Steve’s arms. Steve slid one hand up Tony’s back and Tony came forward without resistance. With his heart hammering in his chest, Steve leaned forward and kissed him. Tony’s lips opened eagerly under his and effortlessly, his tongue slid into his mouth. Tony’s arms slid around his neck and with a small moan Steve pulled him flush against his body. He reveled in the feel of Tony in his arms, Tony’s fingers in his hair, Tony’s scent in his nose. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe Tony was letting him kiss him, was kissing him back as if he wanted Steve just as much as Steve wanted him.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this in front of several hundred people.

He pulled back abruptly. Tony looked at him, questioningly, his lips swollen and red and it was the hardest thing not to kiss him again, immediately. Softly this time, maybe. But-

“Can we go somewhere else? Please?”  

Tony nodded.

The next moment they had Apparated to softly lit bedroom. Tony’s, Steve presumend.

“Did several hundred people just watch you Side-Along Apparate us without a license?”

“ _That_ is what you’re worried about? Not that we’ll be on the front page of the Daily Prophet in the morning? Doing _this?”_ And Tony kissed him again.

Oh man, that was going to be bad, if it was in the Prophet. Steve knew things were going to get really, really complicated, but, God, Tony was kissing him and rational thought was beyond him.

 

***

  
The next morning Steve was on the second round of fucking Tony through the mattress, this time trying to go slow and watching his dick sliding in and out the beautiful boy writhing in the tangled sheets and egging him on, when Bucky’s howler arrived.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure why I started writing this. Basically, real life got really difficult for a while (still is) and this was a good way of distracting myself. I'm afraid this may have ended up a little uneven, but I hope we can all see it as a bit of harmless fun, and not draw any serious conclusions about my demise as a writer. Or something. Apologies for not even trying to Brittify this, and no, it is not Brit-picked either (which I know should be the norm, but the only reason this made the deadline is because the deadline got extended). The wonderful buhfly did give it a once over, so at least it got cleaned up a bit for your convenience!
> 
> The idea of Ron Weasley as a flying car (and motorcycle) salesman isn't mine. That comes from Maya (Mistful)'s wonderful fic 'Drop Dead Gorgeous' (sadly no longer freely available), it's just one of those head canons that stuck. Molly Weasley's entrepreneurial endeavors are my own invention. 
> 
> I post writing updates on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/marilenalena).


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